


Tears

by Moiranna



Series: 50 themes - Vergil & Dante [12]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, One-Sided Attraction, Or well.... before there is ever a relationship, brotherly love/hate, sentimentality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 07:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7257676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moiranna/pseuds/Moiranna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady will never admit it out loud, but she cares for Dante. Lady-centric</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Theme: #17 - Tears  
> Notes: Written as a companionfic to “[Rain](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6783370),” though they can be read individually.
> 
> Originally posted at ff.net a few years ago. Revised and shifted some things

****The rain was pouring down in buckets. Lady swore loudly as she ran through the darkened streets, having given up on shielding herself as a passing-by car had splashed water all over her a few minutes ago. Scanning for any signs of life she saw only deserted streets, not a soul out in the pouring rain. People, it appeared, were smarter than she was, something she couldn't help but note with passing annoyance.

Rounding the corner she skidded to a brief halt before continuing, her eyes on the scene in front of her, and she remembered precisely why she had rushed away from her microwave dinner. The hasty glance at the kitchen calendar with the six words scribbled down had been reminder enough.

A lone figure stood on the rooftop of Devil May Cry, staring up towards where the Temen-ni-gru had risen and then fallen once more. Every item worn drenched to the very core, however it was in no way apparent that the figure up there ever noticed this. His white hair lay plastered against his face, some of the strands blocked his view, but from the vacant look in light-blue eyes it appeared that he did not care.

“Dante.”

A few seconds passed by, and she begun thinking that perhaps the rain had swallowed her words, when he turned around and truly _looked_ at her, not one bit of his usual devious air around him. It seemed as if all the light had gone out of his eyes, and in her own way she could understand perfectly well what it was that went through his head.

Lady looked at him for a few moments, then scoffed to herself and shook her head, placing a hand on her hip and gazing at him with her chin raised.

“You’re going to get sick if you keep standing in the rain like this. Get your ass back inside, because I’m not going to listen to you whine about having a cold. You still owe me a hell of a lot of money, Dante.” 

Dante’s lips twitched a fraction and he finally seemed to gather himself, and then it was as if she hadn’t seen that forlorn stance at all.

“Like I’m ever going to listen to a woman that shoots me in the head, Lady.” He tapped his forehead as if to visually remind her of what she had done to him.

She snorted and shook her head to herself, turning around to climb down the ladder and then get in to the moderate heat inside the Devil May Cry building. Not bothering to ask for permission or anything like it, Lady went into the bathroom and fetched a couple of towels, drying off her hair.  Idly she glanced down at her dripping wet clothes, grimacing before deciding to quickly steal into into the hunter's room to raid his closet for a spare shirt and trousers which were far too large on her but thankfully they were dry. It still wasn't lost on her that she'd have to get home again and that most likely she'd have the mother of all colds because of this little excursion. _Lovely_.

Exiting the bedroom and heading down she found that Dante had just entered the building, and she threw him a towel, raising an eyebrow when it hit him square in the face. He sputtered for a moment, removing the offending article from his face before he realized what she’d done, bursting out in a eat-shit grin, casually towelling off the worst of the rain from his face and neck.

He made an _aww, chucks_ sound, holding the towel in a mock gesture as if she had given him the most prized possession ever. “Why won’t you just admit that you love me?”

“Fat chance, Devil-boy,” she snorted and added a glare just for good measure, then turned towards the pool-table to rack up for a game. She kept busying herself as she heard the wet, squelching sound as Dante peeled his leather coat off of himself and presumably threw it towards the coat-hanger. It fell on the ground with a wet thud, quickly following by Dante’s cursing. Judging by the sounds, since Lady didn’t turn around to watch Dante make an even bigger ass out of himself, he finally seemed to get his coat in place, and she heard his footsteps walk towards the staircase and presumably towards the bathroom. She wasn’t the slightest bit surprised by what came next.

“I’m hitting the showers. Will be back in twenty.”

Snorting to herself she cracked the table, watching cue-balls part in all directions. “You’ve got ten minutes,” she called after him. “Anything over that and I’m leaving, doubling your debt in the process.”

She wasn’t certain, but she thought she muttering something about that she was mood killer, even though they went through this routine almost every time she had to call in a favour from him. The gurgling of the rusty old pipes some moments later told her that he was, in fact, in the shower, but she tuned out all sounds to focus on putting that nine-ball into the left-hand corner.

Almost done with her game she heard footsteps behind her, and glanced briefly at her wristwatch, then bent over the table to pocket number fifteen to the middle-left. There was still two minutes left before the time was up. _Impressive_. 

"You look good wearing my clothes." Voice calm albeit playful.

"Don't get used to it, it's not gonna happen again," she commented with a quirk of her brows, though still scanned the table for the next shot.

"I'll just have to memorise this then," he teased, before leaning his ass against the pool-table. "You're getting out of shape."

Lady looked up at Dante for a moment, catching a glimpse of yet another pair of leather trousers (how Dante could afford those anyway considering what he owed her was beyond her knowledge) and water dripping down from his hair and torso which Dante half-heartedly tried to towel off. That he was shirtless didn't at all surprise her, the man seemed to thrive on walking around half-dressed.

“Why is that?” She murmured, pocketing the eight ball right next to Dante.

Dante plucked up said eight ball, threw it in the air once and lazily catching it. “Usually,” he begun, spinning the thing around on the table, “you’re already done with the first game and well into the second round by the time I get back.”

Lady didn’t respond to that, only begun picking up the balls from the various pockets and setting them down in the plastic triangle for a new round, and Dante added in the eight ball and reached for another cue. She quirked an eyebrow but said nothing, just leaned back against the wall and allowed Dante to split, pocketing number three and seven.  
  
They played in silence, and though neither of them would admit it, they were even. Concentration slipping however, maybe it was a stray thought or the cold creeping into her bones, but Lady missed, sending the white flying wide up into the air. Dante, standing just by where it went, caught it without really looking at what he was doing before putting it down, lining up a shot and pocketing the eight-ball, thus ending the game.

“So,” Dante said, breaking the comfortable silence between the two of them, idly twirling the pool-cue between his fingers. “What beastie do you want me to kill this time, then?”

Lady placed her cue in the stand, making sure not to show any outwards reaction towards the bitterness and resignation she had picked up in Dante’s voice.

“None, actually,” she said, holding out her hand to take Dante’s cue and to put it back. “I dropped by to make sure you haven’t run off with my money.”

Dante snorted, walking over to plop down on the couch. “How gracious of you. But, as you can see, I’m still here.”

A wave to indicate that his half-clad self was very much present, and Lady resisted the temptation to look him up and down. It didn't mean that she didn't get the hint of what his words meant so with a brief goodbye she left, inwardly pleased with that Dante had yet to discover the box she had left behind containing a box on swordcare and a nice brand of polish. Stepping outside she was unsurprised by that the rain still was pouring down.

Her trip back home was wet and once home she allowed herself a long soak in the tub though the cold inside lingered, thoughts swirling through her head at lightning-speed. Stepping into her kitchen she leaned back against the kitchen-counter, her eyes closing briefly before they looked at the flashy calendar that Dante had given her last Christmas. He had grinned widely as she had leafed through the images of various dangerous-looking guns with descriptions of just what they did. She had paused at the date they were at now where Dante had written – in his usual half-unreadable scrawl, _Dante’s birthday._ Later on, after he had stumbled out after several more hours of drinking since both of them hated Christmas and just wanted to _forget_ all about that they were both so terribly alone, she had written four more words.

_One year since Temen-ni-Gru._


End file.
